


Swan Song

by togekissies



Series: Fairytale AU [7]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Grief/Mourning, Japanese Mythology & Folklore, M/M, Minor/Past YahaShira, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2019-11-08 22:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17990027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/togekissies/pseuds/togekissies
Summary: The boy named Kenjiro turns to the lake. His gaze is electrifying, like it’s blasting him back to life, and he meets his eyes until the sun’s rays on the water distracts him. Then he looks down. Beneath him, mirrored in the cloudy water, is the distorted reflection of a dirty, bedraggled swan, who tilts its head when he does.Ah, he remembers now. He was a swan once.





	1. swan: chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello! thank you for clicking this fic! for those who have read my fairytale au fics before, this one is an alternate version of that au. i've been calling it a remix. the main change is a couple of characters have been born way earlier, though i'm not sure we'll find out who the other one is during this story. for those who haven't read my fairytale aus fics before, you don't need to! since it's an alternate history, i'm treating it as if it's a new au entirely.
> 
> i should explain one thing, though. normally with chaptered fics i don't post them until i've completed it, so i know i won't post anything that i'll later abandon. this one is not completed.
> 
> this fic is split into four parts, and chapters 1 through 6 make up part one, which is currently the only completed part of the story. as of writing (3/3/2019) part two is over half done, but i have no real estimate as to when i'll finish it.
> 
> i want to post part one now because it's been completed for nearly a year now, and i just really like it. i'm also hoping that any feedback i may get will motivate me to finish part two. but, mostly, i just want to wreck the people who decide to give it a go. have fun!

Movement—feet stomping through overgrown grass, uncoordinated stumbling down the hill, and arguing voices all carry through the valley and over the lake. Anger sits on the water like a heavy, dark cloud, coiling in on itself tighter and tighter when it hears humans walking into its territory. It will rain hell down upon these humans for daring to get close. Just like it has for every other human that has come before it, for years and years and—for as long as it knows, it has lashed out at humans.

There are ruins across the valley, in perfect view from across the lake. Rotting, splintered wood has been reclaimed by nature, which coats the ruins in moss and earth and the occasional clump of flowers. Humans are always curious of the ruins, and it always drives them off. They are always, always unworthy.

These humans, when they come into view, look young. The taller one leads the way, while the smaller one shouts insults at his back. Yes, it thinks these two humans must be male. This is the only observation it makes before it whirls toward them, poised to attack.

One of the humans, the shorter one, looks up at the sky over the lake. He frowns. “Is it supposed to storm? I thought it was supposed to be clear today.”

“Well  _ you _ should know!” the other one snaps. 

The first one bristles, and it is close enough now to see buried sadness in his eyes. It doesn’t care about—it normally wouldn’t care about how a human feels—but this one’s eyes—

It stops short, mere meters away from the human boys. Something has stopped it. Something inside it, deep down. It puzzles over this, anger momentarily lost. It has never stopped before. It could never be stopped. It thinks, and thinks, while the boys argue over the weather some more, and thinks until it realizes—a memory. It remembers something.

It remembers another boy, one some years older than this one. It remembers this boy laughing when it said something—when  _ he _ said something—and it remembers—remembers—

A smile. He had asked what his name was. When this boy from the memory refused to give it, he had given his own. He had never given a human his name before. And this boy, this human, rolled his eyes and looked at him with fondness and said, “My name is Kenjiro.”

There is a jolt where its stomach would be, like it is going to be sick with the memory. It drags itself back to reality, away from the memory that is distracting it from protecting him, and looks back to the boys. 

“I don’t even know why you want to come down here, Shigeru,” the shorter boy is saying. “You’re a goddamn coward! You always run at the first sign of ghosts! I don’t want to drag you out of the lake if you’re stupid and fall in.”

“I won’t fall in,” the taller one huffs. “And I’ve grown up! I’m not afraid of ghosts anymore!”

“You’re full of crap and we both know it.”

The taller boy groans. “How come you never believe in me, Kenjiro?”

There’s the name again—the one from the memory it had. It jolts again. Why does this boy have the same name? And he looks—it tries to remember what the Kenjiro from its memory looked like, but the image in his head is fuzzy. He can’t be sure if this is the same Kenjiro or not, but—but—

The taller boy looks over the lake and tilts his head. “When did that swan get there?”

The boy named Kenjiro turns to the lake. His gaze is electrifying, like it’s blasting him back to life, and he meets his eyes until the sun’s rays on the water distracts him. Then he looks down. Beneath him, mirrored in the cloudy water, is the distorted reflection of a dirty, bedraggled swan, who tilts its head when he does. 

Ah, he remembers now. He was a swan once.

-

The boys keep visiting the lake. Possibly because they’ve noticed no one else does, despite it being picturesque, if a little overgrown. They never go near the ruins, which is good. He isn’t sure how he would react if they do. He’s afraid he may lose his physical form to become a spirit of spite and anger once again.

He doesn’t remember much, but at least he knows what he had become. A shade. A vengeful spirit, cursed to spend all of eternity boiling in its own fury, until it eventually self-destructs. He doesn’t think he’d like to do that, but he also thinks he was justified in the anger that led him to become one.

He learns a lot about the boys. He learns that they have been friends since childhood, and have just entered high school. He has no context for this but eventually learns that means they’re fifteen. The taller one, Shigeru Yahaba, is apparently a living identity crisis, and has reinvented himself multiple times over the years. This time he has decided to be a jock. They both played a sport called volleyball as kids and he’s decided to pursue it in high school.

The other one is named Kenjiro Shirabu. He gets the impression that he is quieter and more withdrawn around others, but with his friend he’s loud and opinionated. He scowls a lot, which makes him look older than he is. He is also a seer, a magical human who has visions of the future, which is another thing that pounds on the memories the swan can’t quite grasp. Kenjiro, a seer. It’s familiar.

He doesn’t call him Kenjiro in his head. It’s a lot easier to think of him as Shirabu. 

He always swims nearby, when they sit by the lake. Yahaba sometimes throws scraps of bread in the water for him, which he does not eat. “That swan is looking a lot less half-dead these days,” Yahaba says once, after wasting an entire slice of bread.

Shirabu glances over at him. He holds his gaze with his beady swan eyes. “I guess,” Shirabu says noncommittally, looking back at his friend. 

For some reason, that annoys him

-

One thing he learns about himself: he’s proud to a fault. He carefully bathes himself in the lake, grooming through his feathers with his beak to get rid of the clumps of mud, and drying himself off in the hot summer sun. He waddles over to the lake to look at his reflection. His feathers are sparkling white, if he says so himself.

The next time Shirabu and Yahaba are at the lake, he takes off, circling the valley once before landing in front of them. He clicks his beak in a friendly manner, and preens. They stare at him in shock. Good, he thinks. They  _ should _ admire him.

“Is it sick or something?” Yahaba whispers.

“Maybe it’s hungry?” Shirabu suggests.

The hell are they talking about? He obviously wants to show off how handsome he is. He stops ruffling his feathers to give them a look.

Yahaba takes a tentative step forward and reaches his hand out. “Shigeru,” Shirabu says, alarm in his voice. “I wouldn’t do that—swans are supposed to be pretty mean—”

“It’ll be fine!” Yahaba insists. “I mean, why else would it get so close to us?”

Stupid, stupid humans. He thinks he remembers why he chased them off for so many years instead of trying to interact with them. Yahaba gets closer, and he starts to hiss in the back of his throat. When Yahaba gets close enough, he darts out to bite him.

Yahaba’s reaction time is too good for him to get a chunk out of the boy, but he stumbles backwards and falls down, landing on his ass. “Holy shit!” he sputters. “What the hell was that?”

“I tried to warn you,” Shirabu says, exasperated. 

He hisses one last warning at Yahaba, then takes off. Humans are so stupid. At least Shirabu seems marginally less stupid, in comparison.

-

Yahaba keeps coming up with new insulting nicknames for him. “That swan bastard” is common, though he thinks his favorite is “Swan Princess piece of shit.” He likes the alliteration. 

He keeps hissing at Yahaba whenever he gets too close, but he doesn’t try to attack him, or drive him off. He doesn’t want to do anything that would cause Shirabu to stop coming, and since Shirabu only ever visits with his shitty friend, he thinks they must be a package deal. He likes it when Shirabu is by the lake. Something about him makes his out of reach memories stop tormenting him. 

Sometimes they come wearing the same outfit, with bags they pull books and papers out of, which they hunch over in the afternoon sun. He learns that the outfits are called their school uniform, and the stuff they’re working on is homework. He doesn’t think he went to a school. He thinks it sounds boring.

He learns a lot about humans through watching them, actually. He doesn’t know how long he spent as a shade, but it must have been a long, long time, judging by how differently they dress, act, and talk. The objects they carry with them are strange. Both of them have a small rectangular object they often look at. Sometimes one of them will point it at him, say something like, “Say cheese!” and then show the other their rectangle. It’s weird. Humans are weird.

Remembering doesn’t come easily to him. Sometimes it’s downright painful. Shirabu will smile a certain way, or say something in a certain tone of voice, and it unlocks something deep within him. He then finds himself living in between two time periods, one where he keeps superimposing Shirabu over Kenjiro, or vice versa. It’s distressing. He doesn’t try to remember all that often. He’s mostly content to be a swan.


	2. swan: chapter 2

One day Shirabu comes alone. He swims closer, curious. That’s when he notices Shirabu is crying.

“Go away,” Shirabu says miserably, wiping tears from his eyes. He walks out of the lake and onto the shore, getting nearer and nearer to Shirabu. “I said fuck off!”

He doesn’t listen, but he doesn’t get too close, either. He stops a good ten feet away from the crying boy. “Fine,” Shirabu says. “Fine.” He sinks to the ground, pulling his knees to his chest, and hides his face from the world.

He watches Shirabu curiously. He didn’t think Shirabu ever indicated he was unhappy. Then again, he doesn’t have much experience with unhappiness.

...Does he? He turns to look at the ruins. Somehow he knows his anger was preluded by unhappiness. Shirabu continues to cry while he stares at the ruins, contemplating what it means to be sad.

-

Although Shirabu continues to visit the lake with Yahaba, he starts coming on his own more frequently. Often he does so because he needs to cry. On these days he sits close to Shirabu, listening. And eventually Shirabu begins to vent to him.

Shirabu is in love with Yahaba, and Yahaba is either oblivious to his feelings or just pretending he is. Yahaba keeps talking about other people—girls, mostly, but sometimes he finds a boy cute, and that seems to cut Shirabu worse. He listens with sympathy. Love being painful is one of those inscrutable truths, one he knows from the tip of his beak to the ends of his tail feathers.

This continues into winter. He learns how to break the ice that forms on the lake, and how to feed himself when the world is frozen. One day, bundled up against the cold, Yahaba looks over and asks, “What’s the swan still doing here? Don’t they go south for the winter, or something?”

“It’s a weird swan,” Shirabu responds, and they drop the subject.

-

In the spring, another boy comes with them. He stands on the tips of his toes and gawks at the lake. “You were right, Yahaba,” he says. “It is really pretty!”

Yahaba grins. “And you thought it was dangerous,” he teases.

“In my defense, that’s what everyone says,” the new boy says, laughing.

Shirabu hangs back, hands in his pockets, letting this scene play out. He thinks he looks subdued. He guesses that Shirabu will be back within a few days, and he’ll find out for sure.

He learns the new kid’s name: Shinji Watari. He plays on the same team as Yahaba. Apparently Yahaba is making plenty of friends on his team. He seems happier, like he’s not trying as hard anymore, though he still seems unaware of how it’s making Shirabu feel.

“I tried to play, when we were kids,” Shirabu tells him the very next afternoon. He’s sitting on the shore, staring blankly into the shallows. “I’m not very good at controlling my visions now, but I was even worse then. Sometimes I’d get one while playing, and someone would run into me, or I’d get hit by the ball, and people would resent me for it.”

He tilts his head, watching Shirabu, ignoring the memory emerging in the back of his mind. He doesn’t want to lose himself to confusion, not when the boy before him needs someone to talk to.

Shirabu hides half his face in his arms. “My powers limit a lot of what I can do,” he continues. “Everyone thinks seeing the future is cool, and Shigeru will brag about me sometimes, but—I won’t ever be able to drive, I can’t trust myself to ride a bike, and even taking the train alone is difficult. I don’t think I’ll ever have a normal life.”

He doesn’t know what half those things are, but it’s obvious how miserable Shirabu is. He swims over to the shore and walks out of the water. Shirabu watches him. He sits next to Shirabu, like he’s seen Yahaba do.

Shirabu reaches out. He touches his wing with just the tips of his fingers. After he doesn’t bite, Shirabu more confidently starts to stroke his back. “I don’t have any friends, besides Shigeru,” Shirabu whispers. “I guess that’s why I’m here, spilling my heart out to a stupid bird, like some sort of idiot.”

He pulls his hand back as his eyes fill with tears. Shirabu buries his head in his hands, and he sits next to him, calmly keeping watch.

-

When Shirabu leaves, he lets the memory pass over him. He remembers Kenjiro, on a cold autumn day, dodging questions. “I haven’t had much trouble since I was a kid,” Kenjiro said.

“I’ve seen you freeze sometimes,” he said. The sound of his own voice, distorted by his own faulty memory, startles him. He’d seen his own human-like hands and legs in memories before, but for some reason he never thought he had a voice. “I don’t believe your powers don’t cause issues. Why else would you be living out here, alone?”

At that Kenjiro’s smile turned bitter. “I live here by choice, for the sake of the innocents living in the village where I was born. It has nothing to do with my powers being out of control.”

“It has everything to do with your visions,” he said, the truth dawning on him. “The Hunters—they come here more often than you’ve told me.”

Kenjiro shifted uncomfortably. The little wooden hut they were talking in is warm from the fire in the hearth, but the biting wind blew through cracks in the old walls. Kenjiro wasn’t dressed as warmly as he should have been. He was sharing his spare clothing with him, because he didn’t have very much of his own. What an ungrateful guest he is, he thought. He should visit town to get Kenjiro a gift to make up for it.

“The Hunters don’t bother me,” Kenjiro finally said. “I’m useful. They don’t kill monsters that are useful.”

At that, he laughed. “ _You_ aren’t the monster here,” he said. “You’re more human than I am.”

“I’m about as human as they are, but they have a surprising capacity for hypocrisy,” Kenjiro said dryly. “At any rate, I’ve been dealing with visions of the future since I was a child. I know what they feel like. I can stave them off until I’m somewhere safe.”

“And here is safe?” he asked, meaning around himself—he wouldn’t allow himself to be vulnerable while near something like him. And yet, he caught Kenjiro in the midst of a vision a handful of times since coming to stay.

“As safe as I’ll ever be,” Kenjiro answered. “You said it yourself—I’m alone here.”

Another blast of wind blew in a draft, and Kenjiro shivered. He crossed the small room to Kenjiro’s side, then pulled him into his arms to warm him up. “You aren’t alone right now,” he whispered into Kenjiro’s ear.

He felt Kenjiro smile against his collarbone.


	3. swan: chapter 3

He thinks he likes summer, now that he’s in a state to appreciate it. The year before he was still getting used to having a body again. Now he marvels at all the life springing up around him—the reeds on the shore, the flowers dotting the meadow, the bright, lush green leaves on all of the trees. Even the ruins look beautiful in this weather.

The new boy, Watari, joins Shirabu and Yahaba at the lake sometimes. On these days Shirabu hangs back more, talks less. Some days it’s just him and Yahaba, and some days it’s Shirabu alone. Those days become more and more frequent.

“I like this place,” Shirabu says to him one afternoon. “It feels soothing. Something about it calls to me.”

He feathers stand on end. He feels the ruins at his back, and knows he can never let Shirabu near them. Not just for the thing he protected for over a century as a shade, but for Shirabu’s sake. He knows, somehow, that it would not be easy for the boy.

-

In the autumn there’s another shift in Yahaba and Shirabu’s relationship. He notices it one day when they go oddly quiet, and he looks over to find them tangled up on the shore, kissing.

He feels a pang of jealousy. He had something like that, once. He still doesn’t remember much from his old life, he knows he misses that companionship.

He swims away, giving them privacy, recognizing his own loneliness.

-

Of course, not everything goes smoothly. Shirabu and Yahaba still argue, only now it seems like their petty, half-serious arguments become full-blown fights. He gets the impression that they break up and get back together multiple times over the following months. Sometimes Shirabu talks to him about it. Sometimes he broods in silence.

The discovery of his jealousy seems to have unlocked more emotions in him. The strongest he’d felt in years was anger, even after his transformation back to a swan. After that, curiosity, annoyance, satisfaction. All mild. It was as if he were drifting through life with cool detachment, and now he can’t stop caring.

He always had a bias for Shirabu. He realizes now that Shirabu is different from his Kenjiro, in both appearance and personality, but he still can’t help but have a soft spot for the young seer. As a result, he starts being nastier to Yahaba. Especially after the two have broken up yet again.

There’s snow on the ground the first time Yahaba comments on it. He’s half-soaked, having fallen on his ass after he charged him when Yahaba got too close, and pissed. “Control your goddamn swan bride,” he snaps.

Shirabu starts in confusion. “The hell are you talking about?”

“That stupid thing only likes you!” Yahaba throws his hands in the air. “It hates me! Make it go away, Kenjiro.”

“What? I can’t control birds, you know that!”

Yahaba lets out a groan of frustration. “Maybe you should just date that thing instead, since you like it so much better!”

Shirabu blinks rapidly. “Fuck you,” he spits out.

“Fuck _this_ ,” Yahaba snaps, and he marches away.

Shirabu stays behind. When Yahaba is out of sight, he wipes his eyes. “Shit,” he says, his voice thick with tears. “Is it always like this?”

For the first time in years, he wishes he had his voice, if only to tell Shirabu that it isn’t.

-

After one particularly bad winter storm, he starts to feel a phantom pain in his wing. He comes onto shore and stretches it out, flapping it up and down, blowing fresh snow everywhere. He can’t tell if he injured it in his sleep or not.

Shirabu forges his way through the ankle-deep snow toward the lake, then breaks into a run when he sees him testing his wing. “Did you hurt yourself?” Shirabu asks, kneeling on the snow, getting his pants wet. He takes his wing gingerly, running his fingers over the bones.

He lets it happen for a few seconds, out of shock. He remembers—

He honks loudly, startling Shirabu into dropping his wing. Then he takes flight, away, away from this boy who reminds him too much of Kenjiro.

It wasn’t a winter storm he broke his wing in. It was an autumn one, when he was following his clan to their winter nesting grounds. The storm was sudden and violent. Lightning struck a tree, spewing branches and splinters of wood everywhere, and in the ensuing confusion he’d flown straight into another tree. He crashed to the ground and his clan continued on, unaware that they’d lost him.

He tried to walk to a clearing, so he’d be visible from the air, but the pain in his wing made him dizzy. He tried to shed his feathers and take his human form, because at least then he’d have one functioning hand to tend himself with, but the injury prevented him from transforming. He was forced to lie in the forest until the storm passed, convinced he was going to die there.

At the time he thought it was an incredible coincidence that a human stumbled across him the very next morning. It wasn’t until later that he realized he had most likely had a vision of where he’d be. The human took one look at him and said, “You aren’t doing so well, are you? Let me help you.”

He didn’t want this human’s help. His kind could never afford to trust humans. He hissed, he snapped, he fought, but somehow the human managed to swaddle him in a blanket, and carry him back to his little hut in the forest.

The human set his wing, and then gave him a shallow bowl of seeds and dried berries. “You should stay here until that wing is healed,” the human said. “It isn’t safe for you otherwise.”

Stubbornly, he refused to eat the food. After the human went to sleep that night his hunger got the better of him, and he ate. And he stayed. He couldn’t understand why he stayed. Eventually he figured out that he simply liked the way the human smiled at him.

He spent the winter healing in the drafty hut. He was wary of the human, skittish of his touch, and took care to never reveal his true nature. Eventually the bones of his wing mended and he could transform into a human, but he never did. He couldn’t risk it.

The human took it all in stride. He seemed to know the swan he’d rescued wasn’t a regular bird, but never demanded answers. On the first nice day of spring, he took him outside and said, “Are you ready to leave?”

He took off with no hesitation. He didn’t look back. He found his clan again—they thought he was dead and rejoiced at his return—but he couldn’t forget the human who helped him.

-

The lake swells with the spring melt, and he decides to fly over the nearby town. He wonders how much it’s grown over the years. It was small but rapidly growing when he last visited, and he expects it looks much different, judging by the clothing the boys wear.

He can’t prepare himself for _how_ different. It’s incredibly noisy, for one. The dirt roads have been replaced by something black and hard and unpleasant to walk on. The buildings are larger, and are no longer made of wood. Glass is everywhere. He smacks right into a large pane of the stuff, then spends a few minutes marveling at how massive they were able to make it. There’s hardly any greenery anywhere. He doesn’t know how anyone can stand it.

And the _people_ —they’re all over the place, walking, sitting at tables or on benches, hunched over the rectangles he learns are called phones, and almost all gawk at him when he’s nearby. The most shocking thing of all is how they aren’t all human. He spots a nukekubi holding her head in her arms as she chats with a human, some naga slithering down the street, and other creatures that would have been ashamed to show their faces when he last experienced society. The humans don’t treat them any differently, either. They seem to be living together peacefully.

It makes his head spin. He needs to get out of there. He spreads his wings and takes flight, leaving humanity once more to find sanctity at his lake.

-

Shirabu picks at the grass. “I think maybe I should call it off for good,” he says.

He doesn’t answer, because he’s a swan.

“Things are worse than before, really,” Shirabu continues. “We argue all the time. I don’t remember the last time we did anything fun together—besides making out, I guess. I still really like him, but...” He rips a handful of grass out of the ground. “I’m not happy like this.”

He observes the boy. Shirabu is not crying. He doesn’t even look close to tears. He looks calm, but hurt, and just a little bit lost.

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” Shirabu asks, looking at him. “God, what am I saying, you’re just a—” Shirabu stops, because he’s nodding his head. Shirabu marvels at him. “You aren’t a normal swan, are you?”

He doesn’t answer. He thinks it’s pretty obvious by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a nukekubi is a type of yokai. essentially, a woman's head will fly off her body at night and drink people's blood or bite them to death. probably just a rumor started by hunters to make humans fear them, though. i'm sure they're nice people!


	4. swan: chapter 4

Shirabu comes to the lake more frequently afterwards, and Yahaba comes with him less often. When Yahaba is there, they’re awkward, and he leaves pretty quickly. He gives them space to deal with it.

During Shirabu’s solo visits, he learns that this is his final year of high school. He’s looking into which university to attend. It sounds like a lot of schooling, but if Shirabu wants to, then he supposes it’ll be fine. 

The weather shifts into summer. Shirabu gets into the habit of reciting his homework out loud. He learns quite a bit that way. Most of the things Shirabu says are interesting, especially when he gets to recent history. But the things he learns have huge gaps in them, and it only serves to make him more curious. 

That curiosity quickly turns to guilt. He can’t leave this place to go exploring the world, to see how it’s changed, to reintegrate himself. He just can’t. 

He swims lazy circles in the lake, and Shirabu tells him all about the physics of it.

-

Over the months, Shirabu’s relationship with Yahaba slowly recovers. They start coming to the lake more often. The Watari kid is nowhere to be seen—Shirabu must have explained to Yahaba how sharing this place made him feel. They start joking around more easily, and argue less.

Yahaba is going to a university in the city they live in. He’s going on a sports scholarship. Shirabu hasn’t decided yet, but he knows where his heart lies. One warm summer day he laid on the banks of the lake, staring up at the sky, and said, “I want to get out of here.”

He hopes Shirabu does. He doesn’t want this lake to capture anyone else. 

Shirabu comes on his own one day, bundled in a jacket and a scarf, feet crunching through the dead leaves covering the ground. He flies out to meet him. “Hello,” Shirabu says. He looks distracted.

He waits. Shirabu will talk when he wants.

It’s the better part of an hour before Shirabu says, “I still love him, I think.”

He watches Shirabu, and carefully measures how quickly his chest rises and falls. 

“But I know I’m not in his future, not like that,” Shirabu adds. He says it almost flippantly, but his voice catches on the last syllable. “He asked me to look years ago. And I—I’ve been wrong before, but—” He sighs. “I looked into my own future, afterwards. And I didn’t see anything. Not that I saw myself alone—I mean my powers didn’t work.”

Shirabu takes in a heavy breath. He steps closer to him, still watching carefully, his head tilted to the side. Shirabu eyes him warily.

“I think I’m afraid,” he says quietly.

He understands that. The future is a terrifying thing. And the powers of a seer aren’t completely reliable. Kenjiro didn’t anticipate a stranger knocking on his door in late summer, a basket of fresh vegetables in hand, saying it was a thank-you gift. He took longer than expected to realize the stranger on his doorstep was the swan he’d released months ago. Kenjiro didn’t see him in his future, despite looking through his own timeline extensively.

Shirabu kneels so they’re eye to eye. “I wish one day you’ll tell me who you are,” he says. “I don’t think it’s fair of me to always dominate the conversation.”

He doesn’t mind. But he has no way of expressing that to Shirabu, so he simply looks at him.

-

Winter passes quicker than anticipated, and before he knows it, Shirabu is at the lake to say goodbye. He doesn’t see him again for months.

Yahaba continues to visit. He brings Watari sometimes, but he mostly comes alone to heckle him and throw bread in the water. He takes pictures with his phone, because he says Shirabu needs to be reassured his swan bride is doing fine. The swan bride comments are annoying, but he’s mostly curious about the pictures. He knew about photography before he became a shade, but the idea that any average person could take as many pictures as they want with a tiny little box is mind boggling. He can’t imagine they’re any good.

He finds himself bored without Shirabu’s visits. His only options are to lose himself to remembering, or to try to experience the city the little village grew into. The former is too painful, so he picks the latter. 

He does things in small steps this time. He flies to sparsely-populated neighborhoods first. He finds parks with fountains in them. He learns what times the fewest amount of people are walking around. And mostly, he listens. Shirabu awoke his appetite for learning and he’s found that he’s starving.

One day he returns to the lake and finds Yahaba is already there. “Holy shit!” he says when he spots him. “Where were you? I was about to tell Kenjiro you’d fucked off to some other lake. You would’ve broken his heart.”

That’s rich, he thinks, coming from the person who  _ has _ broken Shirabu’s heart. He turns his head and swims away.

-

Summer has barely begun when he sees Shirabu again. He instantly knows something is wrong. Shirabu is standing too stiffly, and his fists shake at his sides.

“I couldn’t do it,” Shirabu says when he gets near. “I couldn’t stand being away from home. Everything was so confusing—I couldn’t tell the present from the future—” He chokes on his words, and starts to cry.

Shirabu sinks to the ground. He gets closer, and nuzzles Shirabu’s arm, to let him know he’s there.


	5. swan: chapter 5

Shirabu starts attending online classes. He doesn’t know what online means, but he gathers it’s something Shirabu can do at home, because he doesn’t start going to class with Yahaba. Instead, he finds a new thing to preoccupy his time. Unfortunately that thing happens to be trying to find out all he can about the swan on the lake.

He starts by asking yes or no questions. Shirabu asks if he’s from here. He asks if the lake is his home. He asks if he has any family. He asks if he needs any help. He doesn’t react to any of these questions. He simply acts like a swan.

Eventually, Shirabu grows frustrated. “I know you can understand me,” he says one afternoon. “You’ve definitely responded to me before. Why won’t you answer me?”

He blinks slowly, hoping to portray stupidity.

Shirabu lowers himself to the ground. “One day you’ll talk to me,” he says. “I know as much. You won’t be able to pretend forever.”

Was that a threat? The feathers at the base of his neck stand on end in irritation.

“You can trust me,” Shirabu continues, pleading. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. Please. You need help and I can give it to you.”

His words feel like a knife to the heart. No one can help him. He shakes his entire body as if to rid himself of a pest, then takes to the skies, away from the seer who thinks he knows everything.

-

He thought, for the longest time, that Kenjiro really did know everything. Small things would surprise him, like how many birds would visit his feeder or the what colors of the sunset would be. Important events, however, he seemed to have memorized. Kenjiro knew exactly when he’d have visitors, so he knew when to tell him to hide. He knew the quality of that year’s harvest, or how harsh winter would be.

He wouldn’t learn for a long time that he had been the biggest surprise Kenjiro had ever gotten. Kenjiro hadn’t expected him to come back, and he definitely didn’t expect the romantic turn their relationship took.

He didn’t expect to get attached to a human, either. He simply wanted to pay him back for all the time he spent healing him. And then he stayed. Kenjiro insisted on giving him the bed, but it wasn’t long before they were both sleeping on it, tangled together.

The first rule he’d learned as a child was to never trust humans. It was drilled into his head with tales of cousins and aunts and uncles who were captured and held captive because humans are weak, pathetic creatures who can’t help themselves. He had a couple older siblings stolen when he was a child. He remembers laughing over how angry his clan would be at him, after the first time he kissed Kenjiro.

At the time, he reveled in their unexpected relationship. He almost started to believe he could live there, in the isolated hut an hour’s walk from the nearest town, with a seer who could predict danger. He almost felt safe. He thought Kenjiro knew everything.

-

Yahaba laughs at Shirabu’s plan to get him to reveal his less-than-swanish nature. Shirabu flushes with anger, but he thinks Yahaba’s reaction was pretty predictable.

“It’s just a normal swan, Kenjiro,” Yahaba says. “Weres are always mammals, you know this.”

“I’m not saying it’s a Were,” Shirabu snaps.

“Oh yeah? Well I can’t think of any shifter that can take a swan form. There’s nothing it could be other than a boring ol’ swan.”

Shirabu bites his lip and glares at the ground. Yahaba perks up and leans in. “You have a theory!” he says.

“Of course I do,” Shirabu grumbles.

“Out with it, then.”

Shirabu’s face grows red again, this time with embarrassment. “No. I’m not telling you.”

Yahaba sits back and looks at his friend incredulously. “Why not?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason!”

Shirabu looks out over the lake, frowning. He’s looking for him, he thinks, but he’s hidden himself pretty well among the reeds to eavesdrop. “I’m not about to spill someone else’s secrets,” Shirabu says.

Yahaba groans. “All you _do_ is find out other people’s secrets! Sometimes even before they know they have a secret! What’s so different this time?” Shirabu opens his mouth to reply, but Yahaba cuts him off. “Oh, right, I know,” he says sarcastically. “It’s because you don’t wanna hurt your poor little swan bride, isn’t it?”

In the past, Shirabu has smacked Yahaba for comments like these. Or yelled at him, or stormed off. This time he just sighs. “Whatever, Shigeru,” he says.

He resists the urge to pace anxiously on the water. Does Shirabu really know what he is? Or is he lying, in a bid to get him to reveal himself? Shirabu’s preoccupation with him is alarming in more ways than one. It’s almost enough to get him to consider avoiding him whenever he comes by, but he can never bring himself to.

-

One day Shirabu does something completely unexpected: he brings a girl with him to the lake.

She’s pretty, he thinks, with silky black hair and glasses. She looks to be about Shirabu’s age. As he swims closer for a better look, it dawns on him that _he_ is around Shirabu’s age, if he doesn’t count the time he spent as a shade.

He’s so distracted by this thought he doesn’t realize what she is until he’s too close. He senses magic in her veins, a different magic than the more passive seer abilities Shirabu has. She’s a witch. He doesn’t like witches. He hisses and shoots backwards to the center of the lake. Her expression does not change.

“It normally comes right up to me,” Shirabu says apologetically.

“That’s alright,” the witch says. Her voice is musical, and he scrambles to see if she has any power in it. “He’s close enough for me to judge.”

“He?” Shirabu repeats.

The witch nods. “The swan creature is male. You really didn’t know?”

Shirabu is frowning. “Well I’m not exactly going to _look_ , am I? And he doesn’t answer any of my questions.”

He swims back and forth, trying to determine how dangerous this witch is. He’s met witches with destructive powers and the desire to cause as much pain as possible. He’s also met witches who were mostly peaceful, though they often died young. He doesn’t know how, but he will protect Shirabu, if he has to.

The witch continues to stare at him. She must be sizing him up as well.

“Can you see anything, Shimizu?” Shirabu says anxiously.

She tilts her head and waits a beat before answering. “He isn’t under a curse,” she says. “At least, not fully. I can sense the traces of something malicious around him.”

Shirabu is quiet for a minute. “I think he was the spirit who was haunting the lake.”

For the first time, the witch’s expression changes: she’s surprised. “Shirabu, that spirit was made of pure fury. It was beyond saving. There’s no way this swan was that shade.”

“Well, he managed it, somehow.” Shirabu gestures out onto the lake. “I keep thinking back to that day, when the swan appeared. I don’t have any sort of purification powers, and you know how painfully non-magical Shigeru is. I think he did it on his own.”

At that, he stops his pacing. Purification? On his own? Yes, yes he thinks—that sounds like something he’s done before—

“He still has traces of that curse, at any rate,” Shimizu the witch says. “I doubt I could lift it. Something tells me he won’t go near me. But, Shirabu, I have to warn you. If he still has traces of it, then he could easily turn back into a shade. If he doesn’t want to reveal himself, I wouldn’t push it.”

Shirabu frowns. “But he wouldn’t hurt me.”

She shakes her head. “You never know what might set him off.”

He would never, ever, turn back into that thing. Stupid witch. It should be obvious that he doesn’t want to.

Of course, that begs the question: what _does_ he want to do? So far he’s been content to spend most of his days at the lake, but. But. He has been feeling the beginnings of a want recently, and he’s afraid he might pursue it.


	6. swan: chapter 6

“I understand that it’s frightening,” Shirabu says to him. “But there’s so much more you could be doing than wasting your days on this lake.”

There isn’t. There isn’t, there isn’t, there isn’t, and Shirabu is a fool.

He spreads his arms. “Don’t get me wrong, this place is beautiful, but it  _ has _ to get boring after a while. Doesn’t it?”

Is coming here day after day to grill a swan who never answers any less dull? he wants to ask. But he doesn’t, he can’t.

Shirabu studies him, then sighs. He flops on his back in the grass, tilting his head back to look at something behind him. The ruins, he realizes with a start. Shirabu has never shown interest in the ruins before, and he’d almost deluded himself into thinking it was safe. He spreads his wings and springs off of the water, landing in Shirabu’s line of sight, blocking the ruins from view.

Shirabu frowns, still upside down. “What’s with you?” he asks. He doesn’t make a single move. Shirabu rolls over and comes up on his knees, still frowning. “You do want something from me, do you? But I won’t be able to give it to you if I don’t know what it is.”

His heart beats hard in his feathery chest, but he remains as still as possible. Shirabu crosses his legs, looking at him, frown fading.

“I wish I knew your name,” he says finally. “I don’t have anything to call you. And I don’t think you appreciate any of Shigeru’s nicknames.” He doesn’t move. He doesn’t reveal how much this is affecting him. “What sort of name would suit you, I wonder?”

Kenjiro had asked—

Shirabu props his chin on a fist. “What’s your name, friend?”

His name—

It strikes him like lightning. He remembers it, remembers the way Kenjiro said it in the mornings, sleepy and perfect, the way he said it when he was annoyed with him, the way he said it between shuddering gasps—

“Eita,” Kenjiro had asked one day. “Would you do me a favor?”

His heart skipped a beat, because he loved helping out the seer who saved him. “Anything,” he said.

And he remembers—his name was Eita.

His name  _ is _ Eita.

All this races through his mind, but he stands still. No matter what sort of storm is inside of him, he must stay here, he must keep Shirabu safe.

-

Remembering his name was like the last piece in a puzzle he didn’t know he was filling out. Everything is starting to feel so clear to him, like Shirabu lifted a fog clouding his head, and he’s so annoyed. Eita swims laps across the lake in his irritation. 

There are still things missing, of course. He doesn’t remember everything. He doesn’t need to, he thinks, given what he  _ has _ remembered. But as surely as time marches along, carrying him once more from fall to winter to spring, he begins to feel like a person again. He quickly decides he hates it.

“You’re mad at me for all my questions, aren’t you?” Shirabu asks him one day, still chilly enough for his breath to form puffs in the air, after months of badgering. 

Eita glares at him the best he can with his swan eyes, huffs, and resumes his pacing. Mad? Maybe. But not for that.

He hopes he’s imagining the way Shirabu keeps glancing over at the ruins.

-

The second winter Eita spent with Kenjiro passed, and he still didn’t leave. He could have easily returned to his clan. But being with Kenjiro was so exhilarating, like he finally belonged somewhere, and he knew even then he would stay with him forever.

Swans are funny like that. Despite not actually being one, Eita and his kind share some traits with them—namely, choosing a partner for life. He was aware, even then, that humans claim to do the same, but he was also aware of how easy it is to make humans stray. He wouldn’t be like that. His heart wouldn’t let him.

One morning, Kenjiro unexpectedly asked him to run an errand for him. “I just need you to take this letter to a woman I met once,” he said. “The journey should be around three days, round-trip.”

At that, Eita balked. “Three days? Even while flying?”

Kenjiro nodded. He looked a little distracted. “I know it’s far, but it’s important. Could you do it for me, please?”

He didn’t want to leave Kenjiro alone for that long. Sure, he’d flown letters and supplies to and from Kenjiro before, but rarely did these trips take longer than a day. He cupped Kenjiro’s face with his palm. “You’ll be fine on your own?”

Kenjiro gave him a look, a small smile playing on his lips. He looked like his usual, knowing self. “Eita, do I need to remind you I lived here alone for years? I think I’ll manage without you for a few days.”

He smiled, and couldn’t help himself. He kissed Kenjiro. “Alright,” he said. He kissed him again, this time a gentle peck on the cheek. “I’ll leave first thing tomorrow morning.”

It may have been the light of the sun playing tricks on him, but he thought Kenjiro looked almost pained. “No, you need to leave now.”

“If the delivery is going to take over a day, I don’t see the need to rush—”

“Eita. Please. If you don’t go now, you’ll be late.”

He huffed, but his resolve quickly crumbled. Kenjiro had never been wrong before. “Fine.”

Kenjiro kissed him, deeper and longer than the kisses Eita gave him moments before. When they parted, he needed a second to catch his breath. Kenjiro pressed a sealed letter into his hands. “Go safely,” he said. “And remember that I love you.”

Something about the way he said it caused alarm bells to ring in his head, but Eita ignored them. It was the declaration of love that got him. “I love you too,” he said, a dumb smile on his face. He forgot what he was supposed to be doing, and started kissing Kenjiro again.

Kenjiro laughed, and pushed him away. “None of that now. You need to leave.”

He sighed and made a big show of retrieving his robe. He threaded his arms through the ornate sleeves, but paused before he pulled it up fully. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. He then drew the robe around his shoulders, and turned into a swan.

“Goodbye,” Kenjiro said. Eita took flight. He circled the valley once, saw Kenjiro waving to him, and then flew off.

He didn’t want to. Something felt wrong. But he trusted Kenjiro with more than just his life—he trusted him enough to leave his robe unattended with him. Kenjiro would never betray him or steer him wrong.

He flew for hours, passing over villages and farms and the occasional hermit’s hut, like Kenjiro’s. A lot of people had fires going for such a warm day, he noted. It wasn’t until he saw the burnt remains of what used to be a small village that he realized they weren’t little fires contained in pits or hearths—he was flying past the smoke of the destruction hunters left in their path.

Eita immediately realized why Kenjiro had been behaving strangely, and why he had insisted on Eita leaving right away. He turned around so quickly that he nearly fell from the sky, and then he flew as fast as he could on tired wings.

He made good time. His return flight to the valley took an hour less than his journey away. He was still too late. The little hut was half-burned and still smoldering. Kenjiro’s body was already cold.

-

He doesn’t remember the hours that followed. He thinks those are memories he’ll never get back, because he hadn’t been in a frame of mind to think. What he does know is that he buried Kenjiro, and he wept, and mourned. And when nothing came of his mourning, despite his divine heritage, anger crept up on him.

He couldn’t stay in the hut. He moved to the lake, close enough to keep an eye on Kenjiro’s grave. He felt his fury eat away at him, and he embraced it. He wanted to do something, anything. He wanted revenge.

Isolated as they were, it was always impossible for Eita to go unnoticed. Someone from the nearby village must have spotted him and was struck by his beauty, like humans always are, and later recounted their encounter to the wrong person, who informed the hunters that Kenjiro was harboring a monster. Kenjiro knew they were coming for them, just as he knew he would die if he refused to cooperate.

Hunters are horrible, disgusting humans. To become a hunter a human must take on a curse upon themselves, lifespan and strength enhanced by magic. Kenjiro called them hypocrites before, in comparison to himself. But they were nothing like him. The magic they use is dangerous—his passive, useful, hurting no one. So of course they used him. Of course they murdered him when he didn’t obey. 

Without their ultimate prize, he knew they would come back for him. He would be ready. He knew he was stronger than any of them must have expected, and his power only grew as his fury did. 

His mother found him before the hunters had a chance to. She flew to the lake and let her robe slide off her shoulders, revealing her radiant, divine form. His mother had grown old without him noticing—she was once a hundred times more beautiful, like him. Still, she glowed, despite her sad expression.

“Eita,” she said to him. “Give this up. Come home.”

He turned his head and refused to meet her eyes. “Leave.”

“My son,” she said, gliding closer. Heartbreak was written all over her face. He was her youngest child. After so many of his older siblings were stolen from her by greedy humans, she raised him accordingly. She taught him how to defend himself, how to use his power, how to manipulate humans into doing anything he wanted. She made him powerful. And yet, he, too, was stolen from her.

“Get out,” he snarled.

“Eita, please,” she pleaded. “We can fix this. Come back with me. The others will forgive you, as I have.”

Unfortunately for her, he hadn’t been Eita in a long, long time. He lashed out at her, and she turned back into a swan, fleeing into the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! hopefully part two: tennin will be up soon!
> 
> feel free to catch me on [tumblr](http://togekissies.tumblr.com/) if you want an inconsistent queue and very little text posts, or [twitter](https://twitter.com/togekissies) if you want to see me tweet a lot about nothing and occasionally post a ton of splatoon clips. just a bunch of clips. i take so many clips of my gameplay lol


	7. tennin - chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all, long time no see! i've felt pretty discouraged to write fic (in general) for a while now, but what i need to remember is people do actually like this fic in particular and do want to see it through to its conclusion. i won't try to make promises over when i'll finish it because god knows i suck at keeping to deadlines, AND i'm a full-time student this semester... but most of part two is already written, so i might as well start posting it!

Eita always had a map of the valley in his mind, and the years he spent guarding it made him connected to it. He always, always knew whenever anything living was passing by. He ignored the animals, because they were beneath his notice. It was the humans he was looking for, the hunters who never came back, and he never missed a single trespasser.

The first time he realizes that his connection to the valley is fading is on a spring day, when he looks over and finds Shirabu made his way to the ruins without Eita noticing.

Panic rises in his throat, and he quickly takes off. Shirabu is hunched on the ground, one hand on the mound that was Kenjiro’s grave, the other clutching his head. Eita has seen him have difficult visions before, but none have ever looked as bad as this one.

Eita lands before him, making as much noise as possible, pushing Shirabu back with his body. Shirabu falls to the ground, his face pale and glistening with sweat. He gasps, shudders, and color returns to his face. Eita continues to push him back, and eventually Shirabu regains enough sense to start complaining. “Alright, alright, I got it, I’m moving,” he says, his voice weak.

They stop halfway between the ruins and the lake. Shirabu is breathing heavily. He takes out a bottle of water from the well-stocked backpack he’s started taking on his trips to the valley, and sips slowly. Most unnervingly, he stares at Eita with knowing eyes. Try as he might, Eita can’t calm his heart.

Shirabu sits back and screws the cap on his bottle. “I’m sorry for scaring you,” he says, “but I knew I had to do it eventually. There was a message for me.”

A what? No one has ever, _ever_ gone near the ruins. Eita made sure of that. The only possible person who could have left a message would have been—oh. Oh no. He grows cold.

Shirabu finally breaks eye contact. “I figured it was something tragic, but I didn’t expect—that much violence. I understand why you did what you did. But there’s a reason he left me a message. I guess he knew I would come here eventually, or at least another seer but—” Shirabu continues, looking up at him, while he stares in disbelief. “He never wanted you to get hurt the way you were. He—he just wants you to move on.”

No. No, no no. Eita shakes his head slowly. This isn’t happening, it isn’t, it isn’t!

“That was his last thought, actually,” Shirabu says. He picks at the grass. “He really loved you.”

For the first time, Eita is jealous of Shirabu’s humanity, if only because birds can’t cry. What he can do is fly, and he takes off as soon as he remembers how his wings work. He flies away from the lake, but not far. He lands at the beginning of the tree line, just beyond the ruins.

What he does next he can’t explain. He isn’t thinking. He acts on instinct, and does something he couldn’t remember how to do before now—he sheds his feathers. His pelt turns into a brilliant, glittering robe, his hagoromo, and the sleeves slide down his human arms.

His legs can’t support him. He falls to his knees, breathing heavily. The way his lungs fill with air feels off, as does the pace of his heartbeat, and the way his tongue sits behind teeth instead of in a beak—being a human again is strange, it’s wrong, and he would pull up his robe and turn back into a swan if he weren’t trembling too hard.

Eita somehow manages to pull himself together enough to make sure he’s hidden. He leans against the single still-standing wall of the hut and lets out a long breath. He tried to keep himself clean as a swan, but this evidently didn’t translate to his human form. He has grime under his fingernails and in the cracks of his skin, and the yukata he wears under his beautiful hagoromo is ratty and faded. His hair, which he never let grow below his ears, now hangs past his shoulders, tangled and dirty.

He knows that, despite his ragged appearance, his power still courses through his veins. He would be the most beautiful thing a human ever saw, if he willed it. It was something he used to do freely, to get free food or escape trouble, so it should be something familiar. Instead the depth of his power shocks him.

Then he hears Shirabu walking through the long grass, closer and closer, and panics.

Shirabu stops short of the ruins, and hesitates before he takes another step. “Are you alri—”

“Stop,” Eita says, his voice rough and painful from disuse.

Shirabu inhales sharply, but he does not come closer. “Did you just—was that really—?”

“I don’t want you to see me,” Eita says. He manages to keep himself from coughing.

“I-I already know you’re a tennin,” Shirabu saying, hesitantly. Of _course_ he does. Why would Eita think he could hide his true nature from a seer? “It’s fine. I won’t tell anyone.”

Eita drags his hands down his face. That isn’t it at all. “Don’t,” is all he manages to say.

Shirabu doesn’t answer right away, but Eita can hear him shifting around, as if he’s so nervous he’s incapable of staying still. “But,” he starts. “But I can help you.” He starts walking forward, confidently. Eita’s heart chokes with panic. He starts pulling at the sleeves of his robe, trying to remember how fingers work. “I already know what happened, I already know about you,” Shirabu continues, getting closer. “You don’t have to be alone anymore—”

Eita finally gets his robe on correctly, and he quickly shifts into his more comfortable swan form. Shirabu rounds the corner seconds later. His eyes widen with surprise. Eita doesn’t waste any time: he flies into the air, away from him.

-

When Eita works up the courage to try to shift again, the sky is orange from the setting sun. It takes him a few minutes to figure it out, and by the time he turns his feathers into a robe he’s out of breath. He takes a moment to breathe, then looks at his reflection in the lake.

He looks terrible. He has bags under his eyes, his hair is tangled and a gross off-white color, he’s too skinny, and his skin looks like it’s coated in a thin layer of dirt. Or ash, he realizes. It may be ash from the fire that destroyed Kenjiro’s hut.

Carefully, Eita takes off his hagoromo. It’s the only part of him that looks pristine, but he still dips it into the water to clean it. Dirt billows out of the magical fabric and it becomes even more radiant. The water, already fairly clean, becomes crystal-clear. He remembers purifying water before. In fact, he remembers the lake being cloudy when he first transformed back into a swan. He must have been purifying it subconsciously this entire time.

When he takes his hagoromo out of the water, he notices the scenes embroidered onto it seem to be in transition. His robe is a part of him, and it grows and changes when he does. He’s watched the patterns and colors shift from the time he was a child, up until Kenjiro’s death. It makes sense to him that they would want to change again now.

Eita hesitates before he hangs his robe over a branch to dry. That was how one of his sisters was stolen away, along with countless relatives and strangers: humans often would steal a hagoromo when a tennin was bathing. He cannot sense a human anywhere nearby and he desperately wants to be clean, so he takes the gamble and leaves it.

Next he strips off his old yukata and washes that in the water. It doesn’t brighten near as dramatically as his robe does, but he doesn’t have anything else to wear, so he hangs it on the same tree.

Naked now, Eita walks into the water. He scrubs at the dirt on his body. He dunks his head, running his fingers through his hair, trying to get through the worst of the tangles. Once he’s satisfied that he’s clean enough, he sits on the grassy shore, a little chilly in the breeze, and tries to wrangle his hair while his clothing dries. Eventually he becomes too cold and puts on his still-damp yukata. Then his robe, and he takes to the lake as a swan, exhausted but satisfied.

-

Shirabu comes back the next day, a backpack slung over his shoulders. Eita watches him from his hiding place in the woods. Shirabu is obviously looking for him. He circles the lake halfway, surveys the ruins from a safe distance, and even looks in the trees just behind the hut. His shoulders slump, and then he goes to stand by the lake, staring into the water.

Eita has been in human form all morning, preparing for this moment, but now that it’s here he finds himself frozen. Presenting himself to Shirabu is terrifying. His time with Kenjiro hadn’t cured him of his fear of humans. In fact, the decades he spent as a shade has only made him forget how human interaction works.

At the same time, he feels pity for Shirabu. He’s known him, in a sense, for years now, and has listened to all his troubles. Shirabu has only one real friend. Pouring his heart out to a swan is a little sad. It makes sense that, upon learning that said swan is sentient and suffered an unimaginable tragedy, he’d want to lend him a hand. Eita feels it may be cruel to deny him that chance.

He doesn’t want to admit it just yet, but Eita knows he does need help. He’s been fully reawakened, and can never go back to the blissful ignorance he had as a swan. He doesn’t know how to live in this world. If Shirabu is willing to guide him, he’d be a fool to turn him down.

Eita takes a moment to collect himself, then he emerges from the trees. He knows Shirabu hears him approaching, judging by how his shoulders tense. He doesn’t turn around. Eita forces himself to keep his pace steady.

He stops when he’s standing right next to Shirabu. He glances over. Shirabu has his arms crossed, and he’s staring at the ground, frowning and jittery.

The silence between them is oppressive. If Shirabu won’t be the one to break it, Eita decides he might as well. He takes a breath and says, “I’m surprised you came back so soon.”

“Yeah, well,” Shirabu mutters. “You were being stupid.”

Eita stares at him in shock. “Did you just call me stupid?”

Shirabu flinches, and turns his head away in shame. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just—I don’t know what to do.”

“That makes two of us,” Eita admits quietly.

Another stretch of silence as Shirabu contemplates the ground. Eita studies him. He doesn’t look much different than when he first started visiting the lake, but there’s something about him now that Eita can’t put his finger on. Yes, he’s older now, and taller, but. It’s as if his entire aura has changed. Maybe something in him has awakened, too.

“Are you—” Shirabu starts. He groans in frustration. “Am I ever going to be able to look at you?”

Eita blinks in surprise. “Of course,” he says. “Why else would I be standing here?”

Shirabu grumbles. “Well, you told me not to yesterday—” He swings his head around and stops cold when he catches sight of Eita. He blinks a couple times, turns away, then looks back. Eita stares back at him, keeping his expression neutral. He’s making a conscious effort to suppress his natural tennin magnetism, but that doesn’t mean he’s being successful. He’s out of practice.

Finally, Shirabu says, “You’re taller than me.”

The statement is so unexpected Eita can’t help but grin. “That I am.”

Shirabu flushes red and looks away again. “Don’t make fun of me,” he says. “How was I supposed to know?”

Eita’s grin fades. He doesn’t want to ask, but he has to. “Didn’t you see me in—in his memories?”

Shirabu shakes his head. “Not really, no.” He frowns, still not looking at Eita. “That isn’t how memories work, I think. I knew enough I could recognize you.”

“That makes sense,” Eita says, recalling his own experience with remembering forgotten things. And those were his own memories, who knows how much more difficult it is to remember someone else’s? He gazes out over the water. “He was shorter than you, anyway.”

“I see,” Shirabu says. Eita senses he has questions, but he doesn’t ask anything just yet. He slings his backpack from his shoulders and opens the biggest pouch. “I brought some food, for lunch,” he says, somewhat haltingly. “And a blanket, for sitting on—you know, if you showed up.”

“You were a lot nicer to me when I was a swan,” Eita comments dryly.

Shirabu rolls his eyes. He’s just nervous, Eita knows, but he’s also naturally a prickly person. He doesn’t treat Yahaba, his best friend, delicately. Shirabu fiddles with the zipper on his bag. “I have one question,” he says.

“If you only have one, I’d be afraid that you’re getting sick,” Eita says, and Shirabu glares at him. Well, maybe he’s a bit prickly, too. “You can ask as many questions as you’d like.”

Shirabu takes a breath. “What’s your name?”

“Semi,” he answers.

Shirabu fixes him with a look. “Just Semi?”

“Is that not enough for you?”

“You said I could ask however many questions I want,” Shirabu points out.

Eita frowns. He’s watched Shirabu run circles around Yahaba for years, he should have expected this. “Eita,” he says finally. “My name is Eita Semi.”

“Eita Semi,” Shirabu repeats.

He didn’t mean anything by it, Eita knows, he was just trying to memorize his name, but he can’t rationalize away the sudden hurt that overcomes him. He flinches. Shirabu sees. He looks surprised, then ashamed, and it fills Eita with guilt. Shirabu did nothing wrong. Any complexes of Eita’s are not his fault.

The only sound in the valley is water lapping up on the lakeshore. Eita shifts, trying to think of something else to say. He’s tempted to pull up his robe and turn back into a swan.

Shirabu starts, like he just remembered something. “Oh,” he says, turning to Eita, a manic look in his eye. “I should introduce myself, I’m—”

“Kenjiro Shirabu,” Eita says softly. “A seer. I know.”

The sudden energy leaves Shirabu all at once, and he almost deflates. “Of course you do,” he mutters, and Eita has the feeling he’s chastising himself.

“Well,” Eita says, gesturing to Shirabu’s backpack. “You mentioned food?”

Shirabu looks at the backpack in his hand like he forgot it was there. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, that sounds good.”

Eita is afraid picnicking might be more of the same awkward conversation, but he’s hoping they’ll relax eventually. Shirabu has questions he wants to ask. And Eita does too, once he manages to think of some.


End file.
